


Front Porch (And One More Kiss)

by Sweetsigh



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash February, Lesbian Sex, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetsigh/pseuds/Sweetsigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I only invite girls in after the third date."</p><p>"What about after the third year of marriage?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Front Porch (And One More Kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> Literally just lady-on-lady porn. That's it. That's the story.

Date night is a rare treat for Grantaire and Enjolras. 

Often, Enjolras is too busy with her work, going to senate meetings and dealing with bigoted policy makers who don’t know what they’re talking about. And when she got home, she would kiss her wife, change into pajamas, and continue her work until Grantaire called her for dinner or for bed. 

Grantaire is just as guilty of having a busy schedule, though hers is more sporadic. Between her children’s and adults’ art classes and the times when inspiration took hold (or when a commission deadline was approaching), Grantaire would alternate being very free and relaxed with her time or lock herself up in her studio and only survive because Enjolras came to feed her and open up the windows so Grantaire wouldn’t die from the paint fumes. 

But on the nights when Enjolras took the day off from trying to dismantle the sociopolitical structure of the government from the inside and Grantaire put away her paints and brushes for the day, the two of them would dress up and go out to a restaurant that one of their friends recommended. 

Tonight, Grantaire puts on her favorite little black dress, the one she loves but rarely wears because it isn’t appropriate for Enjolras’ work functions-- the parties where Grantaire has to be presentable to society and avoids getting drunk by throwing shade at politicians with Courfeyrac. The dress is tight and short, showing off her curves and legs. The cutouts make her waist look even smaller and the pair of black sky-high heels with red soles she wears makes her almost as tall as Enjolras. 

Enjolras, on the other hand, has shed her suit and work pumps for a red flared dress that falls just above her knees and a pair of tall boots. She actually bothers to put up her hair nicely so it frames her face rather than simply pulling it into a messy bun. The perfume she wears is her favorite and the one she only breaks out for special occasions like today. 

Grantaire can smell it when she wraps her arms around Enjolras to pull her close. 

They’re content to hold each other for the moment, full and happy, standing right outside the new Italian restaurant recommended by Jehan. After a quick kiss to her forehead, Enjolras brushes Grantaire’s black curls from her shoulder and lets her fingers linger on her neck. “I’m surprised you managed to get all the paint off.” 

Grantaire had come home from her studio last night covered head to toe in paint after a productive day of painting. She breaks away, taking Enjolras’ hand in her own and languidly heading the few blocks back to their apartment, though not before pressing a kiss onto her neck. She smiles at the red stain her lipstick leaves. “I took three showers since last night but I’m pretty sure there are still spots of red oil paint under this dress.”

“Really now?” Enjolras smiles. 

From an outsider’s perspective, she must look like an angel smiling innocently at her partner, but Grantaire recognizes the interested glint in her eyes. It’s the same glint that appears during a protest or when Grantaire is about to be tied to the bedpost.

She feels Enjolras’ hand slip out of her own and around her waist, hidden from the public by Grantaire’s long jacket. When Enjolras leans toward her, Grantaire can feel her lips brush against her ear and her hand drift lower down her backside.

“Why don’t I peel that dress off and see if I can rub them off?” 

Grantaire can feel Enjolras playing with the hem of her dress and is reminded why this dress is her favorite. Enjolras can easily rub her fingers against the soft cotton of Grantaire’s panties without lifting the cloth much. 

“Sweetheart, you better not start that here, because you really don’t need another public indecency citation,” although Grantaire tosses her hair and turns her nose away, she angles her hip so that she can press down on Enjolras’ fingers with her cunt. Turning back to look at her wife under her lashes, she grins. “But feel free to break out the nipple pasties from your protest days. I was a fan of those.”

The smack on Grantaire's ass is punishment for bringing up Enjolras' wilder days, but the hand stroking the skin revealed by the dress's cutouts is a potential agreement. 

“Maybe another night.”

They walk the last block with Enjolras’s arm around Grantaire’s waist, blunt nails teasingly scratching the bare skin there, frustrating Grantaire to no end.

At the front entrance of their brownstone, Grantaire gets the key from her bag, deftly unlocking the door but turns and blocks the entrance with her body. Leaning forward, she smiles up at Enjolras, “I had a good time tonight.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Enjolras cups her face, stroking Grantaire’s high cheekbones with her thumb. “Will you invite me in for some coffee?”

“I only invite girls in after the third date.” She grins cheekily

“What about after the third year of marriage?” Enjolras steps in closer so their faces are only inches apart.

“Hmm, I guess that deserves a kiss at the very least.” And Grantaire closes the distance between them. 

It isn’t a sweet kiss. 

Grantiare bites and sucks at Enjolras’ lower lip, and Enjolras pushes Grantiare through the door, slamming it shut once they’re both inside. They’re pawing each other’s jackets off as they drag each other to the bedroom. 

Enjolras shoves Grantaire onto their bed and steps forward to pin Grantaire’s arms down, trapping her between her body and the bed.

“What you did at the restaurant was cute.” Enjolras says while nosing at the line of her wife’s neck. 

Grantaire had taken advantage of the long table clothes and effectively derailed Enjolras’ train of thought during their bickering by sliding her stiletto heel along the side of Enjolras’ leg. 

“What do you mean? I thought you were just speechless at how articulate and eloquent my arguments were.” She bats her eyelashes innocently but yelps when teeth scrape against her shoulder. 

“We’ll see articulate and eloquent you are by the end of the night,” and Enjolras slides down so she’s kneeling on the floor between Grantaire’s legs. 

She hooks her arms under Grantaire’s knees and hauls her closer so Grantaire slides several inches across the bed, her thighs sitting on Enjolras’ shoulders. With Grantaire’s legs spread as far as they are, her tight dress gets pushed up and bunched around her waist so that it’s not in the way of Enjolras pressing her mouth against her cunt. 

Enjolras lets her mouth soak the already wet cotton of Grantaire’s underwear, moving up so she can mouth at Grantaire’s clit and rub her thumb along her slit. 

“Jesus, Enjolras, not is not the time for teasing. I’ve been wanting this since before the entree even came out.” Grantaire pulls herself up so she is siting and pushes Enjolras’ face away to shove her underwear down herself.

Enjolras bats her hands away and the underwear gets stuck on Grantaire’s heels.

“Dessert comes after dinner, dear.”

“Shut up, you ner-- _aaah_ ,” The moan slips out when she feels Enjolras’ mouth on her again, this time with no cloth in the way. 

Enjolras uses the flat of her tongue to lick and savor the familiar taste of Grantaire. She curls her tongue into Grantaire a few times before sliding up to circle her tongue around her clit. 

She rubs her hands along Grantaire's inner thigh, against the soft smooth skin of Grantaire's cunt. She feels her wife squirm against her. Grantaire is always more sensitive when she was cleanly waxed. 

"Come on, Enjolras," Grantaire reaches down to fist her hands in Enjolras’ golden hair, encouraging her by pressing her hips down against her mouth. 

Grantaire keens when Enjolras sucks hard, tongue still moving around her, and shoves two fingers into her. The fingers roll inside her relentlessly and Enjolras' thumb rubs against Grantaire's cunt. 

The low heat in her belly get hotter and tighter, and Grantaire grinds down on Enjolras' mouth and fingers in desperation. 

When Enjolras presses in ruthlessly, faster and harder than before, tongue scraping against her clit roughly, Grantaire screams, hips still riding Enjolras until she comes down from the high of her orgasm.

Grantaire sighs contently, feeling herself still twitching around her wife’s fingers. Enjolras leaves a trails of sticky kisses along her thighs as Grantaire happily pets her hair, half-heartedly trying to fix the mess that she created. 

Grantaire nudges Enjolras with the heels she never took off (underwear still stuck on the left foot), pressing her stiletto lightly against Enjolras’ back to get her attention. When Enjolras looks up, Grantaire has to smile at the picture she sees.

Enjolras’ lipstick has been half-smeared off, though her lips are shiny from going down on Grantaire. Her hair is disheveled and dress slightly rumpled from where Grantaire’s legs had been shifting. Her cheeks are flushed and pupils blown, the blue of her eyes barely visible.

Enjolras looks beautiful.

Though perhaps Grantaire is biased, because she thinks Enjolras is always beautiful.

Grantaire cups Enjolras’ face, bending over to kiss her from where she is still kneeling between Grantaire’s legs. 

They murmur secrets against each other’s lips, whispers of love and devotion and adoration. 

As they kiss, Enjolras begins to move her fingers again, adding a third and twisting so her thumb can move on Grantaire’s clit.

Grantaire whimpers into the kiss, feeling the tightness of her next orgasm ready to be pulled from her body. Her second orgasm always comes quickly and easily after the first. 

Enjolras chuckles when Grantaire gasps and spasms around her fingers.

“Oh, wipe that grin off your face. Smugness isn’t a good look on you,” Grantaire lies, shimmying her hips away so she can be more fully seated on their bed. She unstraps her heels, flicking off her underwear in the meantime. 

“Really? Then what’s a good look for me?” Enjolras stands from where she’s been kneeling, taking Grantaire’s heels off for her because she knows that Grantaire would carelessly toss them aside but complain when a heel broke. She sets them by the foot of the bed along with her own shoes. 

“A good look for you? Hmm, probably on a stage making an impassioned speech, rousing the angry spark in millions.” She pulls Enjolras into bed with her, unzipping her bright red dress. “Or leading a revolution, ripping away at the injustices of the world. A new god rising in flames to replace the old” She helps free Enjolras from the dress, revealing the lovely milky white skin that contrasts so well with the olive tone of her own. “Or an even better look: naked in my bed”

When Enjolras has been divested of her dress, Grantaire straddles her and starts to press biting kisses along her collarbone, making sure to place the lovebites low enough that Enjolras’ blouse can hide the marks tomorrow. She lavishes attention on a particularly sensitive spot by her shoulder while reaching back to snap open Enjolras’ bra clasp.

“Why are you still dressed?” Enjolras grouses as Grantaire strips her of her bra and continues to leave marks down her body. She slides her hand from where it was resting on Grantaire’s thighs to her back, searching for the hidden zipper of the dress. Grantaire arches her back down like a cat stretching, making it easier for Enjolras to find the zip, though it still remains unfound. 

“What do you mean?” Grantaire asks far too innocently for someone who has her hand on Enjolras’ breast. She rolls a nipple under her thumb and feels Enjolras shudder slightly, her fingers faulting in their search for the hidden zipper. “We are both wearing one article of clothing. You have your nice lace panties, and I have this dress. Are you telling me I have to give up my dress while you get to keep your underwear on?” 

Grantaire gasps dramatically, sitting up and placing the hand that isn’t on Enjolras above her heart. Enjolras grumbles when Grantaire slips from her hands, still not having found the damn zipper.

“Enjolras, you would have me take off my last piece of clothing while you get to keep yours? This is blatant inequality! What sort of oppressive fascism would you have me submit to? The tragedy! The injustice!”

Enjolras has shimmied out of her own panties while Grantaire was bemoaning dramatically. 

She flicks her underwear onto her wife’s face, causing Grantaire to sputter indignantly. She rolls her eyes at her wife’s antics, raising an eyebrow when Grantaire looks down at her. 

“Don’t support the inequality, Grantaire. Will you take off your dress now?”

Grantaire gives a shit eating grin, “You only had to ask.”

She reaches behind herself to pull at the zipper Enjolras never found, twisting and kicking the dress off before lowering herself down onto Enjolras. She revels in their bare bodies against each other, tangling their legs together, and she touches her forehead to Enjolras’, letting her dark curly hair cascade down around their faces, shielding them from the outside world. 

“You only ever have to ask,” Grantaire says again against Enjolras’ lips, her hands running slowly up and down Enjolras' sides. 

Enjolras hums, kissing her chastly and sweetly. She brushes a hand lightly over the small patch of red on Grantaire's belly from the mess of paints she was covered in last night. “Be mine? Forever and on?”

Grantaire’s lips pull into a wide smile. “Forever and on.” 

The kiss deepens and Grantaire snakes a hand in between their bodies, letting her palm rest on Enjolras’ stomach. 

“Although,” Grantaire said when she pulls away from the kiss to move to Enjolras’ neck. “I’m pretty sure I belonged to you those six years ago when I first laid eyes on you.”

Enjolras gasps when Grantaire sucks lightly right on her pulse, tilting her head to give better access. 

When they first started dating Grantaire used to leave hickeys all over Enjolras, as if she couldn’t believe that she was allowed to have her and couldn’t believe that Enjolras wanted her back. She’s calmed down since then, though she still loves seeing the bruises on Enjolras’ fine skin, like she’s claimed Enjolras for herself. Enjolras laughed when she had explained it, asking her if the wedding band around her left ring finger wasn’t enough of a claim (though that didn’t stop Enjolras from telling Grantaire to mark her everywhere, visibly, when congress rejected a pro-LGBTQA rights bill, and walked into work the next day with her collar worn low and her head held high).

But now, Grantaire only bites softly, leaving just the lightest mark that will disappear come morning light. The hand burning Enjolras’ stomach shifts lower, palm nestled against the neatly trimmed hair, and her thumb dips down to smear the wetness around before it rests right above Enjolras’ clit. 

When the thumb starts to rub at the root of her clit, rolling down to the head of her clit, Enjolras wraps her arms around her wife and gasps out, “you were mine even then? Even when I resented you?”

She knows the answer, but wants to hear Grantaire say it out loud.

“Even then, I was always yours,” Grantaire moved down to her chest, where she can bite and suck harder, leaving red marks above Enjolras’ heart. 

Tension builds in Enjolras, and she feels herself getting wetter. Grantaire’s thumb continues the pattern against Enjolras’ clit steadily, never changing rhythm even as Enjolras curls upward, spine arched tight as a bow, her head thrown back, and body pressed against Grantaire’s.

Enjolras clings to Grantaire, anchoring herself to her as she shakes apart. Grantaire keeps moving her thumb, wringing out the last bits of Enjolras’ orgasm until Enjolras finally slumps back, relaxing on their soft bed.

Her head is dizzy with euphoric happiness as Grantaire peppers her face with kisses while struggling to pull their blankets over them. 

When they’ve settled under the duvet, holding each other and tangled in each other’s limbs, Enjolras squeezes Grantaire.

“I love you.”

She feels Grantaire smile rather than see it. 

“Love you, too.” A kiss. “Happy anniversary.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the first time I've written porn, so feedback would be nice.  
> I pretty much wrote this because I didn't think that there was enough fem!porn in this fandom so here's my addition.  
> The title of the fic is from I Want Crazy by Hunter Haynes, because I think it's a good song for e/R. 
> 
> Idky, but I totally see fem!R as a woman who likes to get waxed every so often. Don't ask me why, but see this. And I see fem!E as the sort of lesbian who doesn't really enjoy too much penetration. Again, don't ask me why. I thought way too much on these characters' personal grooming habits and sexual preferences, probably not normal. oh well. 
> 
> R probably paints in a sports bra and sweat pants. All of her sports bras are probably covered in paint and Bahorel probably makes fun of her for it whenever they go kickboxing or to hot yoga. (Oils paints are also a bitch to get out.)


End file.
